


Amaranthine Problems

by AngstOfDestiny



Series: Of Arrows and Daggers [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-15 09:53:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4602330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngstOfDestiny/pseuds/AngstOfDestiny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tavaris Mahariel is overworked and Zevran feels neglected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Amaranthine Problems

**Author's Note:**

> As I have problems with finishing the next chapter of the Dalish Arrow, I'm just going to leave it here. I'm sorry...

Zevran was sitting in a window alcove, sharpening his blades absentmindedly and looking at the inner yard. A few young Wardens were busying themselves with an informal training in swordsmanship under the eye of sergeant Maverlies. The mud splashed under their feet, spluttering white-and-blue shields and armours. The griffons covered in mud looked rather pitiful.

“Would you stop it already?” Came the annoyed voice from the huge desk. Tavaris was sitting there, head in his hands, and looking at some documents with a tired expression. “I can’t think in this constant noise.”

Zevran looked at the dagger he was holding. The blade was already so thin, that he might risk damaging it if he used this wheatstone a bit longer.

“I have to polish it yet”, he answered, reaching for another stone. “It’s not ready.”

Truth was that he could not sit empty-handed. He had to do something, otherwise he would gone crazy by now. He run the wheatstone along the blade, making loud, jarring sound. He stopped, looking at the tool with contempt. Something was wrong with the damn thing, this one should sound differently. He put it down, surveying the blade carefully. The blasted thing jarred it, making a shallow dent along the cutting edge. He swore.

“Do you really have to do it here?” Tav asked lifting his head with irritation. “I’m trying to work here, if you hadn’t noticed!”

“That’s the only place, apart of the library, that isn’t totally damp”, answered Zevran, grinding his teeth. “And they threw me out of the library already.”

That was only half of the truth. He also wanted to spend some time with Tav, even if just looking at him - his bonded was so busy that they did not have time neither for talking nor sex lately. He would come late at night to their shared rooms, and fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. And he was out, before Zevran even managed to open eyes in the morning.

“Maybe you should have taken a clue then?” Said the Warden with bile. “It’s unbearable!”

Zevran rose up abruptly.

“Fine!” He answered, feeling both hurt and guilty. Tavaris was probably right… But then, he felt also rejected. And even if some more rational part of his mind knew that Tav was not doing it intentionally - it could not fix his wounded feelings.

He gathered his things and left the study with a loud slam of the door. From the inside came a long streak of elvish obscenities - the Antivian did not understand the words, but he perfectly got the intentions. Sweet Andraste, what happened to this caring, tender boy he fell in love with?

He spent few hours wandering the keep aimlessly, angry both with Tavaris and himself, finally finding himself in the workrooms. It was as good idea as any, he decided, and went to the shelves, choosing carefully jars with herbs and… different substances. They had not been anywhere near any fight for months and most of Zevran’s poisons dried out or lost their potency. It would not hurt to make new supply.

But, then, he was not lying, when he complained to Tav about the keep’s dampness. When he reached the table he was usually working at, he found it soaked in water dripping somewhere from the leaky window. That was too much for the Antivan, especially that the room was chilly - they did not use fire in here because of some of the Dworkin’s supplies lying around.

He was not oversensitive or anything, but he was born and raised in much warmer climate - it was something of a surprise that he wasn’t terribly ill yet, with all this moisture and cold weather. He gathered his supplies and tools and went to the third place he could think of, that would be not-so-much-drenched.

The rooms he shared with Tavaris were not as warm and dry as his study - nothing surprising, considering the fact that they were abandoned most of the day - but he started a fire and prepared a makeshift workshop on the table. Soon it was pleasant enough to sit and work there, and the familiar routines of preparing poisons and toxic coats for weapons engrossed him completely. It was rather nice to do something useful for a change, in the warmth and without the constant complaints and criticism.

“Fen’Harel nan! Why does it stink here of deathroot!?” Tavaris entered, his exclamation making Zevran to snap out from his working trance. The older elf looked at his lover a bit surprised. It must have been late, if he came here, and Zev really intended to finish earlier and clean up a bit. And, there came a second thought - if Tav was invoking Fen’Harel, then he must have been really furious.

“Because I’d prefer to not get the pneumonia”, he answered calmly. “The workroom is soaking wet.”

“So you had to bring it where we sleep? Just because it’s a bit humid?”

“You won’t die of the aroma”, spat Zevran. He was still hurt, angry and the fact, that Tav ignored his discomfort was not making it better. “And it’s not ‘a bit humid’, the room is almost flooded. Unlike you, I wasn’t born in a swamp!”

Tavaris looked at him taken aback.

“Fine. You won’t die of the aroma. I’ll go to sleep somewhere at the swamp.” He turned around and shut the door before Zevran managed to say something else. Maybe he overreacted, he thought, looking at the closed door. Seeing Tav leave was heartbreaking - but he had no idea what he could do to prevent that. Room smelled of deathroot, and Tav was, for some reason, completely oblivious to his feelings and needs. And Zevran not only was too proud to run after him, but he also felt he wouldn’t achieve anything this way. In a sour mood he turned back to his work, forgetting the sleep for long hours.

When he finally got to bed, he didn’t sleep well. There was this emptiness on his side, in a place, where Tav should be, and he could not get warm. When he finally managed to sleep, he woke up a few times, searching for Tavaris and feeling gradually worse.

When he opened his eyes in the morning, he discovered, that the chill that tormented him all the night transformed into cold shivers and terrible headache.

And cough, as he discovered, when he left the bed. Suddenly it turned out to be a very warm bed. He briefly considered getting back under the blankets, but there were almost no servants in the Keep, so if he wanted fire (which had died before dawn) or something to eat, he had to get up. And he really wished for a cup of mulled wine.

He managed to dress himself, discovering in the process, that all his joints hurt too, then donned two warmest sweaters he could find. It seemed that even in his life there were times, when he would not look dashing - but he did not really mind at the moment. Mulled wine was all he could think about.

Way to the dining hall was long - and it turned out to be even longer, as it was already after the common breakfast and he had to get to the kitchen. The kitchen, which was in separate building, across the vegetable garden.

He stood at the threshold for a while, hesitant to go outside, when something hit him in the back. As he turned around, he saw grinning Oghren.

“Hee… You’re looking bleak, elf”, announced the dwarf. Zevran rolled his eyes.

“I can imagine”, he answered, mildly annoyed. “But I’m glad that your observation skills are as sharp as usual.”

“If you’re asking about my observations, Zev, tell me”, a burp interrupted his speech for a second, “how did it happen that Tav was sleeping in the barracks tonight?”

“And this is your business how?” Zevran asked coldly - and shivered, as the chill whiff came through the still open door. He immediately regretted that he did not take his favourite cloak, bought in Denerim when he visited it for the first time with Tav. It was already over seven years, he noticed with a slight surprise.

Oghren burped again, rather majestically, and shrugged.

“I don’t know. But he tends to be a pain in the ass when you’re apart. I don’t know, if it applies to sleeping apart, but I’d rather not check.”

“I don’t know, Oghren. Maybe you should ask him”, answered the elf, finally deciding to move through the garden. There will be a mulled wine for him. And something to eat too. And maybe the head cook will take pity in him, and send one of the girls to take care of him today. As much as he hated to admit that, he really wished for it.

It was cold outside, and wet (as everywhere in the past few weeks), but fortunately it did not rain at the moment. Zevran was not sure how long would this luck last, as the sky was consistently gray (as in the past few weeks…). He hurried to the kitchen door, wishing he was already sitting by the fire there. Tired and clumsy, as he was right now, he almost bumped into a servant girl with a heavy bucket leaving the kitchen. The water splashed onto the ground - water, again.

“I am sorry, my lord”, uttered the girl, not really looking at him, then raised her eyes from the bucked which she must have asserted still was full enough and looked at Zevran.

“My lord!” She exclaimed, leaving the bucket on the ground, and scooping the elf into the kitchen. “Mistress Dana, Lord Zevran’s here! And he doesn’t look good!” She shouted into the room. The head cook, wiry elven woman, who could as easily be forty as eighty years old, turned around with big ladle in her hand, and froze for a second, looking at him.

“Seat him by the fire, Katlin, Madle, get the yesterday’s broth and warm a bowl”, she ordered around. “Nita, go fetch the dried elfroot. I’m going to find Lord Commander, I’ll be back soon. Feed him.”  

As much as Zevran wanted to have someone fuss about him just a moment ago, now it was getting uncomfortable. And he didn’t want Dana to get Tavaris. Because… reasons.

“Mistress Dana, don’t bother lord Tavaris on my account, please”, he asked, letting the girls seat him comfortably near the fireplace.

“Oh, nonsense!” Answered the woman, taking off her apron. “He’d have me flogged if I didn’t inform him.”

He would not. But she loved to exaggerate, and Tav, in fact, would not be happy. Or at least - he wouldn’t be happy if he still cared. After the last evening Zevran was not sure anymore if that was the case. Nevertheless, the cook did not give him another chance to protest, as she left the kitchen in hurry.

Someone put a bowl of hot broth in his hands, and he managed to ask in the chaos for a wine. One of the girls was already pounding the elfroot, and another hurried to prepare the beverage.

It took a while before Dana returned - but when the door opened it was Tavaris in the green velvet jacket, he used mainly for meetings with his vassals, who entered first, head cook on his heels. The younger elf took one look at him and made an expression so worried that the yesterday’s argument suddenly became as real as a bad dream.

“Oh, Zev, I am so sorry!” He exclaimed, his voice full of regret. “It’s my fault.” He moved towards Zevran, nimbly navigating between girls and tables, and kneeled by his side, tenderly caressing his cheek. “I wasn’t thinking, ma’lathin.” He whispered tenderly. “I shouldn’t have thrown you out yesterday.”

Zevran was lightheaded from the relief - or, maybe from the fever - but he managed to smirk.

“What’s your fault, amor?” He asked. “I know, you’re a powerful man now, but last I checked you couldn’t change weather.”

“I am serious”, Tavaris scoffed, but smiled warmly. “Let’s get you back to bed, ma’nehn. You can have your wine under the blankets.”

He took off his jacket, wrapping it around his lover’s arms, giving him another layer of warmth, and helped him stand up. Zevran wanted to protest, but as soon as he stood up, he felt sudden pang of dizziness so he decided against that.

It was kind of nice, to lean on the lithe body of his bonded, as he was taking him back to their rooms, fussing over him like he was a child. It was even nicer as on their way they were approached by the seneschal, telling Tavaris something about nobles still waiting in the throne room.

“Oh, get rid of them for me”, said the Warden-Commander, annoyed. “I’ve got more important matters to take care of.”

Varel seemed to be rather unhappy with that, and started to say something more, but he took one more glance at them and decided against that.

“Fine. But lady Valera won’t be pleased”, he finally announced.

“Tell her something, I really don’t care”, snapped Tavaris, and moved past the seneschal, ignoring him completely.

“My, my. Ignoring lady Valera on my account?” Murmured Zevran wearily. “And what about her problem with the balk on the southern border?”

“It’s not a balk, it’s an orchard”, answered Tav, smiling slightly. “Or they claim so.”

“I can’t remember any orchard there”, Zevran mused. “Are you sure?”

“Oh, yes, I am. The orchard consists of five trees and three bushes. On the balk”, Tavaris chuckled, guiding Zev to the stairs.

“So I was right. It’s a balk problem.”

“Don’t tell her that, she’ll be gravely offended.”

“Like they couldn’t hire assassins to solve the problem”, the former Crow yawned.

“Over a balk?” The Dalish sounded surprised.

“Why not? In Antiva they’d do that just for the sake of convenience. You can tell her I’ll do it for the half of the price.”

“You won’t, ma’nehn, we’ve already talked about it. Not in Amaranthine.” Tav opened the door to their bedroom and smiled roguishly.

“Remember, you’re the arlessa here.”

Zevran chuckled quietly, the laughter turning into a cough fit. Tavaris held him closer, worry written all over his face.

“I’ll prepare herbs for you as soon as we’ll get you in bed”, he promised.  

“Finally you’re interested in me being in your bed, and I can’t even take the advantage”, Zevran complained. “There’s nothing more cruel than fate and an old spouse.”

Tavaris huffed with annoyance.

“First. I am not old yet. Second. I’m interested in you in my bed all the time. I was just… distracted.”

Zevran put a hand at Tav’s arm wrapped around his shoulders.

“I know, amor, I’m sorry. I’m just teasing.”

The younger elf gave him a tight-lipped smile.

“You can’t be too ill, if you still have the energy to tease.”

“I didn’t know that man was supposed to become a mindless beast because of a slight fever.”

“Slight my ass”, murmured Tavaris, making Zevran smirk. He simply loved when his lover forgot about his proper manners. The fact that the assassin was usually the only person able to cause that made him love these rare moments even more.

They finally reached the fourth floor where their private quarters were located. Usually the view and relative dryness of these rooms were more than enough to make up for the number of stairs one had to get by to reach them, but today it was too much for Zevran. He leaned on his lithe partner heavily, almost forcing the smaller man to carry him.

“I’m sorry, ma’lathin”, said Tav again, guilt written all over his face. “I had no idea... “

“Oh, stop it now”, murmured the Antivan, sitting down at the bed. “Just make me this tea.” 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at elwenka.tumblr.com


End file.
